


The Right Answer

by MilesHibernus



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesHibernus/pseuds/MilesHibernus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Sam aren't the only ones looking for the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve knew well before he opened his eyes that he was in deep trouble. It wasn’t so much that he had a headache; he still got those occasionally when he was overtired or stressed, just like anyone else. But his headaches didn’t usually come with queasiness, a taste in his mouth like something had died there...or the feeling of something unyielding around his forearms, calves and neck. Nor had he been lying on the floor of a hard-surfaced room, the last he remembered. _How do you keep getting yourself in these fixes, Rogers?_ said the voice in the back of his mind, as Steve concentrated on the sounds around him.  
  
There were other people in there with him, all of them being quiet. He wondered how much longer he could get away with faking sleep, or more to the point unconsciousness, and decided it wasn’t worth it; he needed to know what his situation was, how he’d gotten from his hotel room to here—wherever ‘here’ might be—more than he needed another five minutes with his eyes closed. The headache was dropping off already as his supercharged metabolism burned through whatever he’d been dosed with.  
  
Steve opened his eyes. Four men stood before him in familiar gear, all of them with guns pointed at him. They flanked a fifth man who sat in a straight wooden chair, leaning forward casually with his forearms on his knees. Steve didn’t recognize him immediately; his face and naked scalp were covered in twisted scar tissue. But when he spoke, his voice was instantly familiar, for all it had been nearly two years since Steve last heard it. “Nice of you to join us, Cap.”  
  
“Rumlow,” Steve said. He tried to twist around and sit up, only to discover that the solid band around his neck—the collar, might as well call it what it was—was attached to the floor somehow. His heart sank. Breaking a thumb to get out of handcuffs was one thing; he was less sanguine about the prospect of breaking his _neck_ , and it wasn’t like his bones were made of metal. “I guess I should congratulate you on being able to learn from your mistakes.”  
  
Rumlow chuckled like Steve had made a joke over beers. “I’m taking no chances with you, not after last time.”  
  
“You mean last time, when I broke an elevator with your face?” Steve asked. “Or last time when I dropped a building on your head? Or last time when I exposed your entire goddamn organization to the world?”  
  
Technically, Natasha and Fury had done the exposing, but Steve figured he could take the credit for rhetorical effect.  
  
“Yeah,” Rumlow said jovially. “All those.” He leaned forward a little more. “Now, I know you’re the kind of guy who likes to get straight to the point, so here’s how it’s going to go. I’m going to ask you a question. Answer it, and you walk out of here scot-free.”  
  
_Oh God no_ , Steve thought. They knew.  
  
“Don’t answer, and you aren’t going to like what happens.” Rumlow smiled at him. The effect was hideous. “Where’s the Asset?”

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve said evenly.  
  
Rumlow rolled his eyes. "Sure you do. Dead-eyed scary-ass motherfucker with a metal arm, used to be your boyfriend? That Asset."  
  
Steve made a show of thinking it over and shrugged helplessly. Rumlow twitched one hand and someone behind Steve kicked him in the kidney. He writhed against the sudden shock of pain, just enough slack in the chain on his neck to end up flat on his back. "The Winter Soldier," Rumlow said, in a tone of heavy patience.  
  
It took Steve several long seconds to gather the breath to reply. "You're behind the times, Rumlow. The Winter Soldier was on Insight One when it went down. They never even found his body."  
  
Rumlow sucked air through his teeth. "Wow, Cap, is this really how you're gonna play it? We've had sightings. We know he's alive, and we know you've got a lead on him. So where is he?"  
  
"He's dead."  
  
Steve twisted where he lay and swung his bound fists; the man who was coming up to kick him again skipped awkwardly to avoid the blow and fell. Steve grabbed for him but a stun baton stabbed into the back of his neck. It hurt a lot more through the thin cloth of his jacket than it had through his tactical suit and he missed his grip, whining through his teeth. The Hydra agent crabbed back, out of his reach.  
  
“Jesus, it's hard to get good help these days,” Rumlow said, sounding disgusted. Steve lay on the floor panting and trying to get control of his limbs. It’d be faster for him than for a regular person, at least. "Where's the Asset?"  
  
"He's _dead_ ," Steve repeated. He knew he sounded breathless but that didn't matter. "The Winter Soldier's been dead for two years." As far as Steve was concerned, the Winter Soldier had died when Bucky hadn't let Steve drown.  
  
"Where's...wait a sec," Rumlow said. The room went quiet and Steve took advantage to close his eyes, listening for whatever might be outside it, which sadly turned out to be nothing at all; even to his hearing, there were no stray sounds leaking in. They might have been on the Moon. "Oh, man, Cap," Rumlow said finally. "I knew you were stupid for him but I didn't know you were that stupid." Steve opened his eyes again and craned his neck enough to see Rumlow staring at him thoughtfully "You don't like it that I'm calling him the Asset. Do you?"  
  
Steve set his jaw and said nothing, staring at the ceiling. The room was large but not cavernous, and brightly lit; the wall to the left of the door was mirrored. After a few seconds, Rumlow started to chuckle, then to laugh. Steve ignored it. Every second Rumlow spent laughing was a second he wasn't trying to get anything out of Steve. Eventually Rumlow calmed and sat back in his chair. “All right. Let me put this in a way you’ll understand, Cap. Tell me where Bucky Barnes is or you’ll be in a world of hurt.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Steve said, and it was even technically true. Since the helicarrier he’d seen Bucky for all of two seconds, on the other side of the street; he’d vanished behind a passing truck. Steve had no idea whether his lead was good.  
  
“I’d like to believe you. I really would,” Rumlow said. He sounded genuinely regretful. “Get him up, and be careful about it.”  
  
It turned out that the wall opposite the mirror had a winch mounted on it. One man shocked him again while another snapped a second chain to his collar, and then the winch reeled him in. Then there was a whole lot of maneuvering with guns and shock sticks, so careful it was almost funny, to get his arms and legs attached to the wall as well. He stood with his back against cold concrete, staring at his own reflection, and wondered how the construction of this facility had been hidden in the SHIELD budget. Surely even Fury hadn’t authorized the construction of secret torture bunkers.  
  
Though Pierce might’ve.  
  
When they had him trussed up to their satisfaction, Steve was spread-eagled but standing on his feet. The chain that ran to his collar had enough slack in it that he could lean forward a few inches; aggressive moves were out of the question unless someone got within that range of his mouth. If his knees gave out he’d probably choke unless they took the thing off him pretty quick.  
  
Rumlow moved his chair so that he sat facing Steve again. “Where’s Barnes, Cap?”  
  
“Rogers, Steven; captain; 0-704192; July 4th 1918,” Steve said. He was not, technically, a captain anymore and his SHIELD badge number was meaningless—but he felt it made his point.  
  
Rumlow didn’t have eyebrows to raise anymore; he made do with tone of voice. “OK, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Strip him.”  
  
Steve rolled his eyes. “Should’ve done that before you tied me up.”  
  
Rumlow snorted, an unlovely sound, and said, “Hope you didn’t like that shirt.”  
  
The man who approached him had a pair of scissors, heavy-duty medic’s shears meant for cutting patients out of their clothes for treatment. They made quick work of everything he was wearing. It occurred to him that he didn't even know where his shoes were; he'd been in his sock feet when he woke.  
  
There was no way to avoid touching the chilly wall with a lot of bare skin, but Steve found what really bothered him was that he didn't like being naked. He wasn't ashamed of his body; he never had been, even when it was scrawny and crooked. But it was a violation, all these people he'd never have chosen to allow to see it, and he felt his face heating. Of course that was why they were doing it: to make him feel vulnerable, exposed. But knowing that and being able to do anything about it were two different things.  
  
"Where's Barnes?"  
  
"Go to hell," Steve said calmly. Rumlow made his little gesture and one of the men punched Steve in the stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a little strange how fast something like this could develop into a routine. Rumlow would ask where Bucky was; Steve would say he didn't know; one of Rumlow's men would punch him. They never hit him in the face, not wanting to compromise his ability to talk, but his torso, arms and legs were mottled with bruises, the oldest ones spreading out and beginning to fade.  
  
Steve was very hungry by the time Rumlow said, "I have to admit, Cap, I'm impressed."  
  
Steve laughed, honestly amused. "Are you kidding? I can do this all day." He felt pretty terrible, but it wasn't really much worse than an average day, back before the serum. Only the contrast with his current good health made it hard to take.  
  
"Last time you saw him he tried to kill you. Why're you taking this for him?"  
  
"The thing is, Rumlow? Back when you were working with me, I'd have done it for you too," Steve said. "That's what you do for your friends, for your team."  
  
Rumlow's ruined lips set in a hard line. "It's bad enough that you say that kind of shit. What makes it pathetic is that you mean it."  
  
"Well, that was before I knew you were Hydra," Steve said, shrugging as best he could. "It seems kind of stupid now."  
  
Rumlow stood up and crossed to stand in front of him, drawing his shock baton as he moved. "Where's Barnes?"  
  
"I don't know, and if I did I wouldn't tell you," Steve said.  
  
Rumlow flicked the trigger of the shock stick and jammed it into Steve's ribs. Steve convulsed, trying to scream around the way his throat locked up. "Give me Barnes and you can walk out of here, Cap," Rumlow was saying, somewhere far away. Steve could feel the heavy metal band of the collar digging into his windpipe but he couldn't straighten enough to take the pressure off. The shock stopped and he slumped, struggling for breath.  
  
"Where's Barnes?"  
  
"Dunno," Steve muttered. Rumlow shocked him again, for long enough that Steve's vision was starting to bloom sparkly grey spots by the time it let up.  
  
"Where. Is. Barnes?"  
  
"I don't _know_ ," Steve said. This time the shock baton landed on his inner thigh and he screamed and screamed until darkness swallowed him.

* * *

When he woke up, the collar was gone. Steve couldn't decide if he was grateful for that. The damn thing had been uncomfortable, but being able to knock himself out at will could have been nice.  
  
Almost all his weight was hanging from his arms, and his wrists and shoulders ached fiercely. He forced himself through the transition from dangling to standing and raised his head. Rumlow held out a plastic bottle with a straw in it. "Drink this."  
  
"Why the hell should I?"  
  
"Because dehydration is bad for your willpower," said Rumlow, with his best approximation of his old careless smile. "You want to protect your old pal Bucky, right?"  
  
Steve glared. It was in Rumlow's interest for him to be lucid, but on the other hand it wasn't impossible he'd go out of his head enough to let something slip if he didn't take what he could get. He leaned forward and pulled the straw into his mouth.  
  
The liquid tasted like nothing but the metallic flatness of tap water and Steve drank quickly. It was an illusion that he could feel the water moving through him, soaking into dry tissues. When the bottle was empty Rumlow set it aside. "OK, you remember the deal. Tell me where Barnes is and you're out."  
  
Steve knew he couldn't waste the liquid on spitting in Rumlow's face, but it was awfully tempting.

* * *

Despite his best efforts he didn't manage to pass out again, but after a while Steve found himself drifting. He knew he still screamed and struggled every time the shock stick hit him, but he didn't _care_ very much. Rumlow kept asking where Bucky was, and Steve kept insisting he didn't know. He wondered fuzzily if Rumlow thought he'd gotten much better at lying recently. Everyone knew Steve couldn't lie, didn't they?  
  
"You can stop this any time you want, Cap. All you have to do is tell me where Barnes is."  
  
Steve shook his head. The shock baton cracked down across his collarbones.

* * *

Steve's sense of time had begun to slip erratically. The lighting in the room never changed and with no outside noises he had nothing to track by except his own heart; trying to count beats was a fool's game.  
  
After a while—he knew he'd never know how long—Rumlow set down the shock baton and gave Steve more water and even a granola bar; it wasn't nearly enough to calm his hunger but every little bit helped. All he had to do was hold on until Sam could find him. Maybe Sam would think to call Nat and Clint, or Tony; he and Tony were maybe on the outs but surely he'd set that aside for this? It was hard to be mad at a dead guy...  
  
Steve felt thick-headed and shook himself but it didn't make him much clearer. Rumlow stood in his usual position a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. "Where's Barnes?"  
  
"I don't know," Steve said wearily.  
  
Rumlow shrugged, the motion stiff. "I'm starting to believe you."  
  
"You should, because it's true."  
  
Rumlow said, "What I don't believe is that you don't know where to look for him. You're obsessed, Cap, and we did work together. I know what you're like when you have the bit between your teeth." He grinned his awful grin again. “So tell me where to _look_ for Barnes.”  
  
It was stupid to get mad; it wasted energy just like trying not to scream would have. But Steve snarled, “By now it wouldn’t do you any good anyway, he’s better than that.” It had been _months_ since they’d had a lead this fresh and Rumlow was making him _waste it_ —  
  
Rumlow’s smile got wider. “So you do know where to look,” he said, all satisfaction, and Steve’s stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back until it rested on the wall. _Fuck_ , he thought.  
  
He’d gotten into the habit of riding herd on everyone’s language back when he never knew if there was going to be a film crew when he and the Howlies got back to base. But sometimes profanity was just the best available way to relieve his feelings, at least inside his own head.  
  
Without opening his eyes, Steve said, “May the curse of Mary Murphy and her nine blind illegitimate children chase you so far over the hills of Hell that God himself couldn't find you with a radio telescope.” A moment passed. “As my mother used to say.” Not the radio telescope part, of course, but Steve had liked the addition ever since he’d found out what a radio telescope was.  
  
“You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?” Rumlow asked, all friendly teasing, like they were on a mission together. “Where’s Barnes, Cap?” Steve didn’t answer or open his eyes, which turned out to be a mistake because it meant he had no significant warning before the nightstick slammed down on his fingers.  
  
Steve howled, his brain whiting out under the sudden shock. Rumlow waited patiently while he gasped through it. _At least it was my left hand,_ he thought, though since the serum he was really more ambidextrous than anything.  
  
“Tell me where Barnes is and I’ll shoot you up with enough morphine for even you to feel it before we let you go.”  
  
“No,” Steve gritted, and it _really_ should have occurred to him to clench the fingers of his right hand.  
  
Not that having two broken hands was significantly more of a disadvantage than only one, but he wasn’t looking forward to what it was going to feel like the next time his legs gave out on him.  
  
Rumlow patted him on the cheek, the condescending bastard, but Steve had the satisfaction of making him snatch his hand away before Steve could bite it. “I’m gonna let you think for a while,” Rumlow said. “Just remember: tell me where Barnes is and you’re in the wind.”  
  
He turned and headed for the door, jerking his head at his silent minions as he went; they followed him out. The door closed behind them, leaving Steve alone with his own reflection. He stared at it and concentrated on not crying.


	3. Chapter 3

His hands throbbed, hot, the skin too tight. Steve could tell that some of the bones were going to set wrong and have to be rebroken when he got out of this, and he _would_ get out of it. He wasn't going to die without seeing Bucky again.  
  
He was tired, though that didn't mean much; he didn't need as much sleep as most people, but he'd known since 1926 that pain made you tired. But he couldn't afford to let himself even try to doze, not when that would mean putting all his weight on his arms. Rumlow wasn't going to open the wrist restraints to let him reposition his hands, and even with broken fingers he couldn't pull them through.  
  
The insistent pain tried to force tears from his eyes and Steve blinked against them.

* * *

Despite his best efforts, by the time Rumlow returned Steve was drifting off occasionally, only to jerk back awake when his weight fell on his wrists. Rumlow looked cheerful and rested, as far as Steve could tell, and Steve felt a stab of the irrational hatred that came from lying awake when someone else could sleep. He'd felt that towards his mother and Bucky both, before the serum had fixed his occasional insomnia, and it infuriated him to feel such an intimate thing towards _Rumlow_ , of all people. He'd never have wanted to be that close to the man even before he'd found out about Hydra.  
  
"Feeling more cooperative yet?" Rumlow asked, still in his old bantering tone.  
  
"Fuck you," Steve snapped with all the force he could muster.  
  
Rumlow sucked on his teeth thoughtfully. "You know, it's an interesting thought, but I'm not sure I want to get that close."  
  
Steve was too tired to supress a shudder of revulsion and Rumlow laughed. "Tell me where Barnes is."  
  
"No," Steve said.  
  
Rumlow looked him up and down and made a beckoning gesture. From the still-open door one of his lackeys pushed in a wheeled metal table, covered in implements Steve didn't have names for. "I was hoping you'd say that," Rumlow said.

* * *

Steve whined as the spike sank slowly into the meat of his forearm. Like he was discussing batting averages, Rumlow said, “The great thing about this is that I don’t have to be so careful with you, you know?” He twisted sharply and Steve yelped. “This isn’t, what do the suits say, my core competency, I don’t know all the tricks. With a normal person I’d have to be worried about crippling him, killing him. You, you’re not even in shock. Give you a couple days and you’ll be back on your feet, no problem.”  
  
“You seem—to be doing—a pretty good—job,” Steve said. He _wanted_ to be in shock. They’d have to take him down if he were in shock and he longed to be off his feet so bad he could taste it. His breath came hard, reminding him uncomfortably of asthma, pneumonia, bronchitis.  
  
“Not that good, you’re not telling me anything,” Rumlow said, and shrugged. “Like I said, not what I’m trained in. Where’s Barnes?”  
  
For a moment Steve thought about telling him. The lead he had was tenuous at best and if they did catch up it wasn’t like Bucky couldn’t handle Rumlow and some goons. But it was possible they’d get lucky and he couldn’t bear the idea of Bucky back in Hydra’s hands—even the semi-Hydra that Rumlow represented. “Don’t you know—the Winter Soldier’s—a ghost?”  
  
Rumlow heaved an exasperated sigh, grabbed one of the spikes he’d placed earlier, and ripped it free. The barbs tore through flesh that had begun to heal around them. Steve choked on his own breath and for a few blissful seconds darkness rolled over his vision.

* * *

For as long as he could remember Steve had been good at pain.  
  
It wasn’t something he thought of as a virtue; he just hadn’t had any choice. Pain had been his constant companion until he was twenty-five, sometimes less and sometimes more but always there, and if he’d let it worry him he’d never have gotten anything else _done_.  
  
So he couldn’t quite grasp why it was so terrible now. He’d given up on trying to control his reactions; not letting Rumlow see him cry was a waste of energy he couldn’t afford. Steve was just so tired.  
  
Rumlow gave him a violently green sports drink and Steve drank it greedily. He hated the stuff most of the time and it was still a little bitter, but it looked like the advice about it tasting good when it was needed was true. The hydration firmed his shaky knees at first.  
  
After a minute, though, his vision began to blur and double. Rumlow’s expression was hard to read at the best of times but Steve was pretty sure he was proud of himself when he said, “You feelin’ that yet, Cap?”  
  
“What the hell?” Steve slurred.  
  
“Any system fails if you put enough stress on it,” Rumlow said. “Yours just takes more.”  
  
Steve couldn’t focus. He wavered where he stood, wondering how he’d gotten his arms stuck like this. There was someone there, broad-shouldered and solid, and he squinted. “Bucky.  ‘Zat you, Bucky?” His lips felt too thick.  
  
“Sure, Steve,” Bucky said. His voice sounded weird. “Hey, buddy, I need you to do me a favor, huh?”  
  
Steve nodded his heavy head. “OK,” he said. “Buck, I don’ feel s’good.”  
  
“Yeah, I can see that. Steve, you’ve been looking for me.” He nodded again. “I need you to tell me where you’re going to look next, OK? Then we can see about getting you fixed up.”  
  
Steve pondered that in muzzy alarm. “‘M not supposed to,” he said. “Need to sit down, Bucky, c’n I sit down?”  
  
Bucky took a step closer and said, “As soon as you tell me where you’re looking, Steve.” Steve could smell him, and he didn’t smell right. He smelled like cheap cologne.  
  
“Buck, y’gotta run,” Steve said. He wanted to be urgent but he couldn’t. “Y’gotta, it’s Rumlow, s’here. S’lookin’ for you.” He tried to step forward, to take Bucky by the arm and lead him away, but his legs were caught in something too and he lost his tenuous balance and fell forward, and when his weight landed on his wrists he screamed.  
  
“Well, shit,” Bucky said, as Steve passed out.

* * *

He fought back to consciousness like he was swimming against a current, a difficult awakening the likes of which he hadn’t had since the serum, and even when he was awake he felt only half there.  
  
He was alone and the room had gone dim, the lighting low and red. A repeating buzz made him want to cover his ears but he couldn’t move his hands and they hurt even more when he tried. For a long time, nothing happened.  
  
Steve tried to tense up when the door opened but he knew he was doing a bad job of it. He must have been losing time because the man who entered reached his side in the space of a blink. Steve forced himself to focus. "Bucky," he said.  
  
"For God's sake, Rogers, how do you keep getting yourself in these fixes?" Bucky asked.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve lost some more time, because the next time he noticed what was happening both his feet and one of his hands were loose, and Bucky was at his other side. Steve’s free hand rested on Bucky’s left shoulder. He could feel the metal solidity of it. “Can you walk if I help you?” Bucky asked, patiently, like it wasn’t for the first time, and Steve tried to pull together his scattered wits.  
  
“Yeah,” he managed, and leaned into Bucky. This one smelled right and Steve had to swallow against more tears. The cuff on his wrist clicked open. Steve sagged and Bucky caught him by the waist.  
  
He was walking down a hallway, Bucky taking more than half his weight. The air was thick with the smells of gunpowder and blood. Bucky was talking steadily, calmly. “...any idea how lucky you are that I heard this place was in use? I didn’t even know they had you until I got to town and saw Wilson running around like a chicken with its head cut off. He’s not a very good spy.” Steve tried to laugh and felt more than saw Bucky look at him. “I thought you were dead,” Bucky said, barely audible under the blaring alarm.  
  
“I thought you were smaller,” Steve told him solemnly, and giggled.  
  
He was sitting on a bench as Bucky helped him pull a black sweatshirt over his head.  
  
Cool air hit him like a slap. He stumbled over his untied boots as Bucky hauled him towards a nondescript silver car. “Is that yours?”  
  
“For now,” Bucky said. Steve stayed awake until Bucky had him installed in the passenger seat.

* * *

“OK, pal, I need you to walk just a little further, can you do that?”  
  
Steve struggled his eyes open to find Bucky crouching in the open door of the car, his hand on Steve’s arm. “Think so,” Steve mumbled.  
  
“Close enough,” Bucky said. Between them they got Steve out of the car and walking. Steve didn’t recognize the lobby of the hotel until he was at the elevator. The ride up seemed endless, the walk down the hall even more so, but then the door to the room opened under Bucky's hand and they made their shambling way to Steve’s bed. His phone was on the nightstand where he’d left it and he thought as he fell onto the mattress that he should call Sam, tell him he was all right.  
  
The bed compressed as Bucky sat on the edge of it. He picked up Steve’s phone and unlocked it without asking for the code. Steve’s eyes drifted closed.  
  
“No, not Steve, but he’s in your hotel room," Bucky said. His voice sounded different, flatter. Sam said something Steve couldn't make out. “What makes you think I’d need one? Bring food, he’s going to need it when he wakes up.” His flesh hand settled on Steve’s back, warm and familiar and comforting. “I handled them, they’re not a problem anymore. I'm sure. Hurry it up, he shouldn’t be alone.”  
  
“Don’ go,” Steve said into the pillow.  
  
There was a long pause. “I’ll stay till Wilson gets here,” Bucky said.  
  
Steve nodded and let himself sleep.


End file.
